


Clear Skin

by InauspiciousBossuet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InauspiciousBossuet/pseuds/InauspiciousBossuet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate Tattoos can be a bit ambiguous. Or non-existent. Sucks to be you, 'Taire. (I realised after I posted this that "Beauty is only skin deep" could have been a better title, but too late now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear Skin

“I need someone to gather the artisans at the Barriere du Maine, to gather them with urgency and firmness. I have no one.” announced Enjolras.  
“What about me?’ said Grantaire. ‘Right here.’

The Musian fell silent and tense.

“You? Seriously?”  
“What?”  
“I didn’t think you were inclined to make yourself of use.”  
"I have a vague ambition in that direction," retorted Grantaire.  
"You do not believe in everything." Enjolras firmly asserted, leaning his hands on the table.  
"I believe in you."  
"Be serious," said Enjolras.  
"I am wild," replied Grantaire.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre glanced at each other. Enjolras’ mouth fell open and he froze. It was a rare occasion in which Enjolras was without words. His brow furrowed and with the flip of his coat, Enjolras strode down the steps and out the door – another unexpected occurrence. Grantaire sighed, exasperated and frustrated, and downed another mouthful of wine.

XXX

Courfeyrac and Combeferre burst outside the Musian to find Enjolras pacing back and forth along the dark street. Enjolras looked up at them with an apologetic and confused expression. Courf placed his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras looked down.

“Damnit.” he sighed softly.  
“Hey, it’s not that bad.” smiled Courf.  
“I know. Just… Damnit. I don’t get this stuff.”  
“It WAS unexpected,” added Combeferre, “but, such is life.”

Enjolras rolled his sleeve higher and sighed at the sight of the inscription on the inside of his upper arm: I am wild.

XXX

Inside the Musian, chaos had erupted. The already intoxicated Grantaire was now in a drunken stupor, fuelled by self-loathing and anguish.

“I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’ve ruined everything. He hates me” mumbled Grantaire. “Screw this.” he uttered louder, slamming his bottle against the table and pulling himself up.

Grantaire stumbled towards the stairs. Bahorel, who was doubtful of Grantaire’s current ability to survive the journey down the single flight of steps, much less his safety wandering the streets in this state stopped him and held him by both shoulders.

“Slow down there, buddy. You’ve looked better after meetings with your parents, and that’s saying something.”  
“I’ve ruined everything.” repeated Grantaire wistfully.

Marius, Jehan, and Feuilly saw this as their cue to leave and give R some privacy.

“Ruined what?”  
“Everything.”  
“With Enjolras?” asked Joly, who was apparently more perceptive than people gave him credit for.  
“He hates me.” Grantaire squinted.

Bossuet perked up. “You’re aware he's just shocked right? He doesn’t hate you.”  
“Do you have any evidence to substantiate this claim, or is it purely a frail attempt to cheer me up?”  
“His tattoo says I am wild.” Bossuet reassured, tilting his head supportively.  
“Tattoo?” R sneered.  
“Y’know. Soulmate tattoos. A word or phrase written on your skin that your soulmate says.” Joly encouraged.  
“Bullshit. I thought you guys were my friends.” Grantaire growled. He prepared himself to once again storm out.

Joly’s face and shoulders dropped. “You don’t have one?” he whispered full of empathy.

XXX

Enjolras lay on his own bed. He ran his hands through his hair.

“I’ve got to say something.”

A heavy thud at the door caused Enjolras to jump up. He sped to the door, which opened to reveal an incredulously drunk Grantaire, who Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel believed to be safely in bed. He looked up at Enjolras with his usual smirk wiped from his face.

“I- Fuck, man.”  
“You’re drunk. Go home.” said Enjolras sternly.  
“No.”  
“Grantaire.” Enjolras slowly pronounced each syllable.  
“Slow me you arm.” Grantaire grunted.

Enjolras pulled his left arm behind his back. Grantaire reached around him and firmly grasped his arm. Enjolras protested and tugged as Grantaire tore the sleeve upwards to reveal the clear I am wild in calligraphy letters printed on Enjolras’ skin.  
Without a word, Grantaire glared upwards at Enjolras fiercely, before storming down the hallway and disappearing.

Enjolras stared disappointedly after him.

XXX

“You don’t have a tattoo?” Feuilly questioned.

Grantaire shook his head. He was nursing a hangover from the previous night, which dulled some of his angst over recent occurrences.

“Perhaps it’s on your back and you’ve just never seen it.” offered Jehan.  
“It’s worth a try.” shrugged Courfeyrac.

Grantaire stood up doubtfully and faced the wall to remove his shirt. His back merely had a small scar. Jehan sighed dismally.

“I told you, it’s no use.” Grantaire said as he turned around slowly with his shirt in his hand.

The room fell silent for the second time in two days.

“What?”  
“Look at your chest.” instructed Feuilly.

“No. That’s just a birthmark.” replied Grantaire, running his fingers down the blood red wine-stain mark that appeared to drip down left of his chest, over his heart. “It’s just a birthmark.”


End file.
